There comes a point where silence isn’t peace anymore, it’s survival.
Where a woman stops explaining herself, not because she’s cold, but because she’s done.
Not angry. Not bitter. Just done being the one who always has to shrink so someone else can feel tall.
People love to label women like that. “Difficult.” “Closed off.” “Too guarded.” But no one ever asks why she built that distance in the first place.
They call it walls, when really – it’s proof. Proof she finally decided she’s worth protecting. Proof she’s done bleeding just to prove she can love.
Boundaries don’t grow out of arrogance; they grow out of exhaustion.
She used to be the kind of woman who answered every late-night text, forgave every careless word, gave second chances like candy.
Because she believed that love meant understanding, patience, compassion.
But what she didn’t realize was – love without limits isn’t love. It’s self-abandonment wearing perfume.
And one day, she just couldn’t do it anymore. Not because she stopped caring, but because she finally started caring about herself.
